


Somehow, Someone

by aurora_ff



Series: (Time is) A Bullet from Behind [4]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hand Jobs, POV Bucky Barnes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Red Room, buckynat - Freeform, buckynat smutathon, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:44:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4558161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_ff/pseuds/aurora_ff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the start of a mission for the Russians, Natalia Romanova and the Winter Soldier meet in a Hong Kong love hotel. Natalia has a special request of her lover: to be fucked with his metal arm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somehow, Someone

**Author's Note:**

> During the Tumblr Buckynat 'smut-a-thon' I had two prompt requests: A sexy fic from the Winter Soldier's POV (rehashing a previous fic of mine) and some Bucky metal arm kink. This came out as an unholy child of the two requests. I hope it fits the bill, although many weeks too late and obviously not Natalia's first time with him in my MARVEL fic-verse.
> 
> Subtle MCU and fic references. And I can't help but make it a little bit sad, cause that's what I do.

The Soldier was stalking in a shining neon city, orders freshly etched in one of the select parts of his mind that was kept sharpened and honed. He did not know his own name, but he knew how to hunt, how to kill, and how to disappear.  But, most importantly to his overseers, he knew how to take commands, to _prove_ himself, again and again.

They said he had been found wounded and dying, but the Russian doctors saved him.

They said he was broken and sick, but their scientists did more than heal and repair him. They perfected him.

They said he was confused and lost. The Fathers purposed him.

The white-coats and uniforms spoke above him as if he could not hear them, except for the occasions they directed him to demonstrate the genius that was the metallic appendage of his left arm to their superiors hidden behind an observation glass. The Soldier complied.

“Demonstrate your strength, _Soldat._ ”

Masked and outfitted, he set his fist against the plating of an armored vehicle, denting it with the force of a battering ram. He then punched through the windshield’s security glass with ease.

“Demonstrate your precision.”

He twirled a tactical knife as easily as a magician did coin tricks between the silvery fingers. When he tossed it from ten meters away into a target, the ballistics jacket the faceless dummy wore proved no defense.

“Demonstrate your durability.”

He held glowing-hot metal rods. He plunged his bionic arm up to the elbow in liquid nitrogen and could still fully move the articulations after a minute of submersion, frost condensing on his fingers afterwards as the alloyed plates came back up to ambient temperature but not disabling it. Never disabling it.

With anything the Soldier did with that arm, there was no pain. Only results. The appendage was a perfect tool and weapon, and so was he. Impervious. Nothing and no one phased him, or so he believed.

Until _her_.

* * *

The snakes of signs blinked in symbols he could not read; the people in the steel and glass canyons spoke largely in a language he could not interpret but he took as Mandarin. The sleeve of his jacket and a pair of gloves hid his abnormality. No. His _specialness._ He understood was supposed to think that instead, and for how long he obeyed, he could not recall.

His mission partner, the girl-become-woman, was walking too on this crowded street which teemed with a mix of pedestrians, pedal-powered vehicles, and automobiles swarming about them. None of the strangers, he assessed with his ever-heightened senses, were threats. As she neared, the lights glossed over her red flame-like tresses in a way that could entrance him amid this chaos had there not been the arranged brush-pass.

Natalia. Her name had something to do with birth, he knew dimly. With the press of her lips and the heat of her body, something -- no, _Someone_ \-- had been reborn in him.

The Someone knew that he was a pawn. He was conscripted not only by the decorated authorities that gave him orders, but by an unwelcome force in his own mind, so strong and overpowering that should he attempt to ignore the parameters of a mission or to try to recall a life before his time serving these masters, his skull lanced with near-blinding pain and his entire body wracked with spasms until the Asset took over and had his cool and deadly way instead.

Natalia called it conditioning and brainwashing. She also discovered for herself the terrible device that, for lack of a better analogy, programmed him like a robot and assured his memories of his past, sometimes teasing in glowing sepia or golden on the edge of his reach, would never return in whole. But for this time, being able to recall her again and again without degradation was enough for him.

If the Soldier was a sniper rifle, she was a stiletto. Weapons were not supposed to have secret desires. But she and he shared them aplenty. Everything about their clandestine couplings was a deadly risk, but they did it anyway, anchoring to one another and asserting to themselves that there was something more to a life than objectives and manipulations and blood. Something free and something _good_.

Their fingers barely ghosted one another as she passed him an encoded address that he thought would be the place and time of the meet up with their local contact, a man who had an inside to something the Fatherland’s blackest divisions want enough to task codename Winter Soldier and codename Black Widow with acquiring.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, he passed nightclubs pulsing with a heavy bass beat and loiterers just outside in tight or nearly see-through clothing, an international mix of faces and tongues. The scene was simultaneously an assault to his eyes and ears yet an inexplicable lure to his newly-awoken impulses.

 _Kids. Wasting their life away in hedonic thrills. Didn’t they care about the War at all?_ This voice admonished him as he passed by. It burned on his cheeks with something like shame. Relenting to the Asset’s focus was the only way he could bring the chill again and ensure he wasn’t followed.

Despite distancing himself, the Soldier found his sure steps falling in time with the pulsing timing of the thumping music. If it weren’t for the rendezvous, he would have folded himself into the throng and be lost and indulgent for a time in the rhythmic press of bodies. The whisper of a longing to sling a bright-stepped girl around his hips and twirl her till she was dizzy was a heady impulse to him until the needling behind his eyes told him that he never danced, he _sparred_. He was prodded ever onward to his given destination.

* * *

He knew the feel of the place when he entered the small lobby. Not a bordello. Not exactly. But a fantasyland meant for clandestine meetings of the flesh. The aging voice behind a frosted glass window must have expected a man of his description, because in broken-English he was directed to a room a few storeys up.

The narrow corridors he padded through were dimly lit, decorated with dark carpet and wallpaper and chrome. Soon he found the door that matched the number on the key. This couldn’t be the meet-up, he knew by instinct. Yet Natalia hadn’t signaled to him, however subtly, that something had changed with the mission plan.

The Soldier placed a hand on the grip of his concealed pistol by habit just as he knocked.

It was Natalia that answered, her own firearm in her hand as a precaution. She wasn’t dressed as one of her covers, only in a black tank-top and worn-out jeans that came off as unremarkably American.

“Who is this wolf at my door?” she teased with a cock of her eyebrow as she motioned with her chin for him to come inside the gaudy room dimly glowing with warm inset lighting in the ceiling and behind the headboard of a huge bed featured in the center of the room.

His dressed the duskily lit boudoir down with his eyes. A door leading to the toilet, two narrow windows shrouded with vertical blinds. And mirrors. So many mirrors. They were, to his heightened senses, alone.

“Where is our contact?” he inquired.

There was a glimmer in her eye as she set her gun down on the black lacquered bedstand. He gave her his own, and she lay it down next to hers. “We’ll meet up with him at 0200. As I arranged.” Natalia returned, drawing close and leaning into him, as her lips tilted up to his ear. A whisper, “This place rents by the hour,” just before she cast off his jacket from his shoulders.

After she took the gloves too, he slid his birth-given hand around the pillar of her neck, feeling a leap of anticipation at spending more than a few rushed minutes of reconnection. Her nimble hands were already tugging his shirt at his waist.

“Hey,” he murmured against her temple, the scent of her hair almost intoxicating. “If we have an hour and some...it’s okay to take it slow…”

“We’ll take it slow,” she promised, her initial kiss burning out nearly all of his trepidation. “But after you’re naked.”

He dragged her on top of him to the bed, throwing his back to the mattress as she straddled him and her crimson hair curtained around them, making a twilight of their faces. Natalia was so achingly young. Seventeen or so said the Academy’s records. When this started some months ago, he could only make some peace with it because her circumstances had stripped her of most everything that could be considered innocence years before he had even touched her.

But he tried, in his noblest of moments, to return something else taken from them both: self-determination. And in the miracle, she chose him; again and again, although underneath the deadly competence of the Winter Soldier was something half-feral and mostly-broken and held together in a ragged patchwork of despair, anger, and lust. Yet, with her, he felt so close to being human again.

She hadn’t concealed much, but she still was armed as he had trained her. A baton near her right hip, a knife sheathed at the ankle of her pants. By feel alone he disarmed her, tossing these weapons on the floor recklessly as he sought his own taste of her skin, the curve of her breast. His erection pressed against the weave of his cargo pants; a least he was whole there, whole for her.

As he kissed her, he abandoned pretenses of chivalry and began unfastening the hooks of her bra under her top with an effortless pinch and tug, cupping and kneading her swells with his flesh-and-bone palm until her nipples formed tight buds and she moaned lowly into his mouth. It was enough for him to banish his brooding thoughts for a short while.

Natalia’s hands were sliding under his shirt and over his stomach and ribs while her mouth was alternately nipping and dabbing at the hollows his neck and jaw, rough with only a day’s stubble. God, she was a deep drink of water to a desert-thirsty man, and he could barely stand the absence of her tongue as he withdrew his hand, bent forward and upward so she could pull the gathered fabric over his head to bare his chest and mismatched arms.

He sought her lips again and Natalia inhaled him, her fingers stroking through his dark hair in a worship that made him glad it was grown long like so many of those punks with their pungent joints, perhaps another small rebellion he was accorded when so much of the Asset was kept under leash.  And then she was shifting down, nails following the peaks and dips of his torso until she ran the back of her fingers between his skin and the belted waistband of his pants. His cock jumped at the suggestion of being freed and caressed by the same silken touch.

With the belt unlatched, the button undone, and the zipper tooth-by-fucking-tooth parted, he thought she’d wiggle him out of his pants and underwear next. But she slid herself further, from his thighs and down to the floor. There were more fastenings on his boots, and Natalia stripped him of the pair and his socks. Propping himself on his elbows, he swallowed as she knelt between his spread legs and squeezed his upper thighs.

“Come closer,” she entreated, her lips swollen from necking him. “I want you in my mouth.”

He never asked her, never even _suggested_ that she’d blow him. He couldn’t possibly entertain using her like too many of her targets had, gagging her on the length and girth of him, thinking that she was only a fresh conquest while the Black Widow wove her deceitful entrapments. Natalia and he were different; they had to stand on something better than getting off on some illusion and counter-ploy of domination. It mattered so much.

“Natalia,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t ever--”

“I want to do this for you,” she countered, her palm rubbing in small circles at his groin, causing his lower back to arch just slightly off the bed as she looked into his eyes. Her pupils in this low light were blown black and inviting. “And a little later, if you’re up for it, you can do something different for me.”

He felt himself lick his own lips, the doubt still caught in his belly, warring yet losing to the onslaught of imagining of what her clever tongue could do while he was ringed in her mouth and the curiosity of how’d he reciprocate her attentions in ways he hadn’t thought of already. “Alright,” he sighed. “Deal.”

“Just sit up a bit and hold onto the bed,” she then said, peeling both his pants and boxer-briefs further from the angles of his hips and around the solidness of his rear. Her fingers then wrapped around his shaft and eased him loose. The bare-skin touch of cool air and her warm grasp hardened him further.  “I want this. Give you just what you need.”

The way she talked, just on the precipice of dirty, was enough for him to vault himself to the edge of the bed and surrender to whatever plans she had concocted for them in the brief window of escape. His fingers gripped the black and silver threaded duvet as his pants were at last gathered at his ankles and tossed in the same pile as his boots. If he was careful, he may not tear anything. He yearned to be gentle, but the Soldier was not remade, trained, and programmed for gentleness.

Natalia began by pressing his shaft against his stomach and dipping her head lower. When her tongue lapped and her nose nudged at the base of his balls, a ripple of pleasure went all the way to his scalp and back down again to his toes. Christ, he wanted to fall back helpless and let her go to town, but she held him upright with the other splayed hand against his buttocks and the lower sweep of his back and he couldn’t do anything else but let go and descend.

She’d catch him. Somehow, she catches him after the fear and sinking and frigid agony in her willowy arms, and her clever hands warm him and remind him again what it was like to _feel_ something genuine. Drift on high as if he was air and snow and not meat and metal. And he didn’t know anything of what it really meant, but he knew that he had to do everything he could to give her the best chance to escape the prison that hemmed them both in, in body and soul.

When her tongue licked and wetted up his shaft, he craned his neck back in further delight to only be met with his own reflection in a mirror hung above the bed. His mouth opened, lips slackened, and his eyes feverish, he had the sensation of being a stranger to himself. The surfaces of his bionic arm caught what light there was in the room in glowing ribbons, the red star branded upon his shoulder nearly obliterated in the strokes of light against the darkness.

And Natalia... Oh, Natalia. Still dressed as her mouth and fingers caressed him, tendrils of her hair brushing the creases of his thighs. When he gazed back down her eyes were closed, her lips gliding over the head of his cock until he was enveloped. A helpless whine escaped him as he reflexively clutched the mattress. The tip of her tongue pulsed against his underside and he was pretty sure he swore aloud, tensing and tightening and half-way _there_ already as her fingers pumped and spiraled around his shaft in an unpredictable fast-then-achingly-slow rhythm.

She bobbed and slurped and sucked at him obscenely, keying him up more, until she paused briefly for breath through her nose before the hot, velvetly-soft recesses of her throat engulfed him, a carnal breach that he lusted for and hated all at once because she was practiced on men that took and took and took and he wanted to give her everything back again and make her clean.

He couldn’t last.

The first shudder overtook him and he gasped and choked and prayed that they wouldn’t be found and wouldn’t be erased. He could not last.

Within mere breaths the beating, swelling waves overcame him and rather than cry out, he pressed his knuckles into his teeth as his hips bucked and rolled of their own accord as he came. She swallowed him enthusiastically as he clenched and thrust and spurted. Raw need surrendered to the lesser, receding tremorings.

Laying down in that pleasant haze of the aftermath, that brief sanctuary of the body’s peace, he found that Natalia had undressed herself and pressed her warm nakedness against his left side, his silvery arm paradoxically like a sword between them because there was no use in pretending a shy chastity in this temple of carnality and with their private veneration of each other.

He turned towards his lover, still feeling the floatiness infused in every organic limb and cupped the base of her neck with tenderness he doubted he would manage if she was still between his thighs. His long, organic fingers brushed over her shoulder, down her arm, and rested on the curve of her hipbone.

“That was spectacular,” he offered before giving her a warm kiss, and the smile she gifted in return melted him a bit further. Joy was in her gaze. The Soldier, when a target was unfortunate enough to come face-to-face with him, was met with only fear and confusion. Not this. This foolish, precious, scrappy joy shining from her eyes.

“Still having reservations?” she teased.

“No,” he shook his head slightly, feeling a corner of his own lip twitch upward. “Though you’re a brat for leading me on. That wasn’t, at all, the definition of ‘slow’. In Russian _or_ English.”

“The slow is for the second act,” she clarified, her fingers tracing over his breastbone, and then down to the seam of scar-tissue that was always fever-warm and slightly itchy, as if it would never fully heal. “If you’re ready.”

Everything about the Soldier was overclocked. Strength. Healing. Reflexes. Even his refractory period. Within a minute he could be hard again and going for whatever she had imagined, though the list of novel sexual activities grew shorter and shorter with every shared mission and the purloined bits of time to themselves.

Natalia’s fingers began following the small folds between the platings of his metal arm, starting at his shoulder and zigzagging towards his elbow. He could feel the touch, barely; small vibrations and whispers of pressure. It clicked then, what she wanted, as he watched her studying the figures she made. She observed, “You never touch me with your left much.”

He scoffed, clenching both his hands and closing his eyes. “It’s a weapon, Natalia. I don’t...We don’t play with our pistols in bed either. That’s sloppy and stupid.”

He broke bones with his fist. He closed throats and snapped necks. He bashed a head against a vintage steering wheel until brains and bits of skull dribbled on custom leather and made it look like a terrible accident just before dawn on a stark December night--

“But it’s not.” Her words, loving but roughened like she’d been smoking, brought him back from the edge. “It’s _you_ , and you can use it just as you want. I know you. I trust you.” She was then pulling him closer. His limbs, all of them, twined around her own as if clinging to the Someone he was other than the Soldier.  She was both spider _and_ web, masterful student and intuitive lover, as fine as a single hair but ten times as strong. Natalia’s mistress, the Madame, did not deserve her.

With her breath on his cheeks, he cracked open his lids, found her face framed so very beautifully in the closeness.

“Tell me, then,” he returned, shifting the bionic arm just enough to trail a cool polished finger across the line her trachea and collarbones. “How you want this.”  One thing the appendage could be credited for: despite his exhaustion, it was always, always steady.

“Everywhere. On me and _in_ me,” she answered, a little spark of mischief in the corners of her eyes. “Eventually.”

“On your stomach, then, _moya zvezda._ ” Taking charge of pleasuring her stirred something akin to memory in his veins that wasn’t or hadn’t yet been stolen or warped. She was the only star that remained in the sub-zero abyss between deployments. He cherished, however dangerous it was, their heavenly course.

When she uncoiled from him and stretched out gracefully on the large bed, with just a little playful waggle of her hips, he felt the unusual tug of a smile. She was sinuous in her strength, lovely feminine curves belying her training as a killer. He kneeled close over her prone form and smoothed her hair over her right shoulder. He breathed against the nape of her neck and the downy wisps there.

His single silvery finger traced the edges and protrusions of her right ear. Natalia gave a shivering sigh. He made a study of the slopes of her shoulder blades, the small bumps of her vertebrae at the base of her neck and further down. And where his fingers went, his mouth was close behind, a pattern of cool and hot, hard and flesh-yielding. She squirmed languidly with the variations in his touch, little pleased or aroused noises coming from her throat. That made him more at ease with what he was doing, studying his own appendage and all its marvel in this boudoir’s warm light, of a different kind entire from the clinical glares he was too familiar with.

Finally his thumb joined to circle around the small of her back and the lovely dimples there, then slid past the small spot of skin there into the start of the valley between her buttocks.

“Have I made you good and wet?” he inquired lowly, raking back his hair. His cock was hard once more, but he ignored the temptation to simply grab her, turn her over, and sink himself into her with an animal’s abandon. That happened often enough, and the Soldier’s self-discipline was his, too, when he needed it.

Natalia flexed her back and pushed her own hand in-between her legs, fingering herself briefly. “Yes,” she agreed.

“Then I’m gonna make you wetter,” he returned, paralleled her previous mischief. “Slowly,” he punctuated. He snaked his right arm under her hips and tugged her up to her knees, her ass hitched higher and closer to him. He parted her cheeks further with his other hand, and as a cat may clean himself, he licked in long, leisurely, sweeping strokes from her moist slit and over her anus all the way up to her tailbone. Natalia whined into the bedcover and spread her legs a little further to give him even deeper access. He could taste her slick and breathe the subtle scents of her body. He wished not for hours but _days_ to do this to her, again and again.

By the way her breathing hastened, the little involuntary twitches of her thighs and stomach, he knew she was eager if not desperate for what was to come next. He kissed his way up her back again with small, peppering pecks, the arm that cradled her sliding now around her ribcage, the other pulling her knees from under her so she descended to the weight of him, side-by-side and entangled once more. She twisted towards him, mouth seeking his in wanton ardor, and he returned it, only half-closing his eyes so he could burn this moment in a corner of his mind with the others of her, undisturbed and overlooked, a sanctuary in his skull like a hidden cave in a snow-laden wilderness.

As she had desired from the start, he began raking the pearl-smooth fingers of his bionic hand on the inner territory of her thigh. It was needed for their proper articulation, he surmised, that each join be buffed and polished so as to give him full range of motion. And here he was, using it to delight her rather than as a tool of annihilation. The dough-faced scientists could not guess nor the hard-eyed Fathers approve, and that gave him some grim satisfaction, as if he had taken the sword and beaten it into a plowshare while they weren’t looking.

As his left hand neared the very center of his attentions, her legs fell open and inviting as he rested the palm over the mound of her dampened sex. Natalia let the back of her head fall to the mattress, her hair splaying about her. He wished for the upteenth time he could feel the heat of her when the only feedback he got was simply pressure and friction. Still, this was her wish, to be touched this way, her quiet challenge that almost made his steady heart skip beats.

He may be robbed of the sensations his birth-given appendage would grant him, but he could at least devour her with his eyes. Their gaze met in the reflection overhead when he craned his neck upwards, her eyes shining and desirous, her body a living masterpiece next to his. He watched her rest her own hand over his and felt the running of her slender fingers over his metallic knuckles. The bizarre sensation of both being the observed below and the observer on high closed on him, and he swallowed, uncertain whether the sight aroused or disturbed him.

Natalia snapped him out of it with a deliberate but small circular grinds against his hand. He tore his eyes from above to kiss her with all tenderness on her temple as his thumb pressed between her swollen folds, familiar at least with the nub of her clit. She gasped at his initial touch, her fintertips hooking the platings’ folds at his wrist before falling to clutch at the bedspread instead. When he ran the underside of the first joint back and forth against her small button of nerves, she tensed and moaned. He didn’t let her move too much however, trapping her closest knee in the vise of his legs as he pleasured her.

“Think you’ll last for that whole hour? Me just working you up till the very last minute?” he growled into her ear, rubbing his cock against her hip solicitously and playing at the predator she had likened him to.

That earned him a satisfying quiver and a guttered whisper of an answer. “I…I don’t know.”

Certain she was beyond soaked, he slid his index finger into her and felt the clenching and tightening around him as she arched her back delightfully while gasping again. Her lovely, firm breasts were flushed as they tilted then flattened again when she exhaled and came back down to the mattress.

He began pumping his finger in molasses-like strokes and continued. “But I do. I know, darlin’. I know I’m going to make you come with enough time to spare for more.” A second, longer articulated finger joined the first, stretching her as she keened and bucked her pelvis in response, taking his hand as deeply as she could before she met resistance in his pinning thighs. Thumb and fingers working in concert, he was deliberate in the way he rubbed and thrust and twisted, building up a pace. He was well aware that with sex that became rough, arousal itself could trick nerves into blocking out pain. So here, with Natalia so vulnerable, he must be so very careful while he had her in his preternatural grasp.

Even in the most shadowy of alleyways, he knew the look Natalia got when she was becoming lost in the building ecstasy, her lips half-parted, her eyebrows furrowing slightly, her throat bared. From her mouth came half-choked encouragements in Russian as she moaned while he fucked her with his hand, pistoning up to his knuckles in a rhythm that dissolved her quickly into wordless mewling and squirming and digging her nails into the crescent of plating at his shoulder-blade as her climax edged closer and closer. When he finally curled his fingers towards his thumb, squeezing her from the inside, Natalia thrashed, shuddered, and muffled her sobs into his chest as her cunt constricted and spasmed in her orgasm, long and rolling and beautiful to behold.

With his right arm under her shoulder, wrapped around her and holding her close to him, he rocked her through the aftershocks, laying soft kisses again into her hair and easing his now body-hot hand from her. Without a miracle delivering them from their masters, he would never be her only lover; but, by God, he would be her truest. He thought once more to finally utter those laden three words that his heart pressed him to say, very certain of their reciprocation, but the thought of the punishment to come to her if she be found declaring her return devotion to anything but her duty to her Motherland stopped him cold. She was clever, though; she had to guess.

Her lashes fluttered as she leaned just far enough away to catch his gaze. “See. What reason do I have to be afraid?” she posed.

He thought to say _’You’re young, Natalia. You’re too cocky thinking you can fight these odds. You don’t understand,’_ but her optimism and strength of spirit had gotten them this far. And that was _exactly_ how it should be, him going along with it and protecting her, for some fucking reason that he could not articulate but felt deep within his bones.

So he kissed her with renewed ardor and conviction, believing the sands in their hourglass had not yet run out. They still had some time. 

“No reason,” he replied. “No reason at all.” 


End file.
